


Everybody needs help sometimes

by Crowseatteeth



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowseatteeth/pseuds/Crowseatteeth
Summary: After everything with Blockbuster and Tarantula happened, Dick has been staying at the manor trying to get back on his feet. He hasn't told anyone about what happened and doesn't plan to. Tim takes it upon himself to try to figure out what happened.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a bit of triggering content in this story in general, if you're sensitive to self harm, victim blaming, or anything like that I advise against reading this. 
> 
> Some characters may be out of character, let me know if they are and I'll try my best to fix it. Thank you for reading

"Can we talk?" Tim asks, setting his mug down on the counter.   
"About what?" Dick mumbles tiredly, pouring milk into his cereal. "The elephant in the room," Tim replies, sitting down at the bar. "What elephant in the room?" Dick sighs, taking a bite of his cereal. Tim stares into his cup, brows furrowed and fingers drumming on the side. "You've been acting weird ever since you got here," He explains, concern oozing from every syllable. "I'm fine, I'm just going through a bit of a rough patch, y'know, with my apartment being blown up and all that," Dick chuckles dryly, his voice only wavering slightly. That small hint of nervousness was all it took for Tim to want to dig further. Obviously he wasn't going to just bombard Dick with questions but he was going to try to figure out what was going on. Dick didn't plan on sharing what had happened, he never wanted to talk about it. If it were up to him he'd die carrying it to his grave, no one ever finding out. If no one found out no one could be disappointed in him. No one could confirm all the things he told himself. It wouldn't be real. "Alright," Tim sighs doubtfully. "Sorry for worrying you," Dick murmurs, getting up and throwing his now soggy cereal out before washing the bowl and putting it away. Tim just nods in response, already racking his brain for hints Dick may have accidentally let slip in the past. 

Dick walks through the grandfather clock to the batcave, sighing quietly. He needed to distract himself. Training was the perfect way to do just that. Training at this time would usually be unusual for him, he never really was an early bird. Ever since he had to move back into the manor, however, he'd gotten up earlier and earlier. Tim was starting to worry, and if Tim was starting to worry he was going to try to figure out what was going on with him. Dick couldn't have that. Tim shouldn't be worried about him. It should be the other way around. He would make sure it'd be the other way around. Tim has his own things to worry about. He shouldn't be one of them.   
"Master Richard," Alfred chimes, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Master Timothy has brought it to my attention that you haven't eaten breakfast, nor did you eat dinner last night," Dick inhales and smiles, "I just haven't been all too hungry lately," Alfred raises an eyebrow. "I hope you'll join us at the breakfast table this morning," He urges. Dick nods, "I'll just finish up here and I'll be out," Alfred furrows his brow. "You've been in here for four hours," He sighs. Has it really been that long? Dick wonders. Come to think of it his limbs ached almost like he'd been on patrol all night, and his breathing was so heavy he wasn't sure if it even counted as breathing anymore. "Fine, I'll be up in a minute," He grins. Alfred smiles and nods approvingly before shuffling away. Dick sighs quietly and looks around before heading up to the main area of the manor. 

"Dick," Bruce grunts as a greeting. "How long were you down there? I haven't seen you all day," Dick shrugs. "A couple hours," he replies. Bruce nods going back to doing whatever he was doing. Dick sits down at the table, Alfred handing him a plate of pancakes, his stomach churns. They look amazing. They smell amazing. He knows they'll taste amazing, but he felt sick to his stomach. Did he want them? Absolutely. He was starving. Apparently his stomach didn't get the memo even though it was the one sending the message. He hesitantly takes a bite as both Tim and Alfred stare at him in concern. He makes a point to finish the plate to keep the collective worry of Tim and Alfred bay. Bruce seems unconcerned as usual. 

In reality Bruce was very concerned. Dick wasn't talking about that night which was unusual and quite frankly unsettling. There was rarely a time where he wouldn't recount his nights on patrol in excitement, barely able to keep quiet without spontaneously combusting. He's never seen him so quiet. He'd spent the past two weeks researching all he could about what happened with Blockbuster. He watched the security footage. Talked to the police. Whatever happened that night was so bad that Dick felt the need to turn himself in for Blockbuster's murder. The police stood firmly in the belief he hadn't done anything and if he had it was for the greater good. Bruce had asked him about it before, Dick didn't answer. In that moment he looked more vulnerable than he had in years. He just stared at Bruce with the look of absolute despair etched into his face, looking like he'd just knocked the wind out of him.   
That was weeks ago, a couple days after he arrived at the manor, lost and terrified. He barely talked then, he still doesn't really talk as much as he used to. It's hard to get him away from the training equipment, he's overworking himself. He looks so tired and worn out. 

Dick gets up, excusing himself from the table. No one says anything when he goes back to the batcave to train. His muscles more than ache. They hurt. 'I deserve this.' He tells himself. He needs this. No matter how much it hurts he needs it. The door opens as he stops to catch his breath. "Master Richard," Alfred greets sternly. Dick looks up still breathing heavily. "It's come to my attention that you're not taking the best care of yourself," He continues "I'm fine Alfie," Dick huffs. Alfred raises an eyebrow. "I've watched over you for years, I know what you being fine looks like and this, this is far from it," Dick nods. "I know," he whispers. "If you'd like to talk, I'll always lend an ear," Alfred puts a hand on his shoulder, his body tenses. "Thanks Alfred, I think I'll be fine though,"   
\-----  
Dick jumps from rooftop to rooftop. Usually he'd be having fun but his skin crawled beneath his suit, memories of that night plagued him. He was borderline paranoid. Everywhere he turned he swore she was right behind him. Her callous laugh mocking him. Every time Barbara talked her voice was cold and professional, it hurt. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to hug her and tell her how sorry he was and tell her what happened. But he didn't. He kept his mouth wired shut no matter how much he hated it. By the time the night was over he was collapsed on one of the living room couches still in his uniform.   
\-----  
Dick opens his eyes, fighting a scream caught in his throat. He sits up, surveying his surroundings, sighing quietly at the sight of Alfred, standing in the walkway leading from the kitchen to the living room. His suit clung to his sweat drenched body. He felt disgusting. "I made you some hot cocoa," Alfred smiles warmly. "Of course you did Alfie," Dick chuckles, shaking his head a little. Alfred shuffles away, coming back with a still steaming mug of cocoa. "Thank you," Alfred nods. "Not a problem at all, Master Richard," He shuffles away again, this time for good. The warm mug in his hands is a good distraction from his less than warm thoughts. He turns on the tv to further distract himself, Tim joining him on the couch a while later. "Morning Timmy," Dick greets. "Good morning," Tim yawns. "How'd you sleep?" Dick asks. Tim shrugs. "I slept okay, what about you?" He responds. "I slept fine," Dick replies. Tim nods, smiling. "What're you watching?" He questions. "Robo cop," Tim snorts, "Seriously?" Dick nods. "Oh my god," Tim shakes his head, stifling his bubbling laughter. "It's a comfort movie," Dick chuckles. "Cocoa?" He asks, turning his still full mug over to Tim, who shakes his head. "No thanks," He replies, standing and walking to the kitchen to make himself coffee. "What has you up so early?" Dick inquires. "Work, what about you? You're not really known to be the earliest bird," Dick shrugs. "Oh y'know,"  
"No. I don't," Tim sighs. "Did you fall asleep in your uniform?" Dick nods. "Yeah, I was exhausted after patrol, you know how it is," He chuckles. Tim nods. "You probably stink," he laughs. "Scratch that, you totally stink. I don't think I've seen you shower in at least a week. When was the last time you showered?" Dick pauses for a moment. "I dunno," Tim sighs quietly. This was so unlike Dick. "Gross," He scoffs. "Yeah, I know,"   
"Dick," Tim hums, changing his tone abruptly. "What's up Timmy," Dick's heart races a little. "Are you sure you're fine?" Tim asks. Dick nods, "Of course Tim," He nods, not looking satisfied with the answer but not wanting to press much further.   
Dick stands up, his legs wobble beneath him. "I'm gonna go shower," he mumbles. Tim nods and goes back to work, still trying to piece all the 'clues' together.   
\-----  
The water drums on his back, almost like.. rain. Hotter. He turns the knob. His entire body burns but he can still feel her hands. Smell the gunpowder and her jazmin perfume through the thick steam. Hear her laugh through the running water. He's so tired. Dizzy and nauseated. He leans on the cool tile, grounding himself.   
He sobs, tears mixing with the water.   
His sobs devolve into quiet dry heaving as his body temperature increases.   
He shakily gets out and dressed, walking back to the living room.   
\-----  
Tim had gone back to his room and the sun had come up. He had been trying to come up with ways to figure out what was going on with Dick for the past few weeks. No one told him anything, he knew it wasn't only due to Dick's reluctance to talk about anything that had happened but also due to the fact everyone thought he couldn't handle it, despite him going toe-to-toe with Gotham's scariest loons on a weekly basis. Whatever was going on he would find out and try to help, no matter what. He has to figure it out. For curiosity's sake and for Dick's.   
If he was going to find out he was going to have to take drastic measures.   
\-----  
Breakfast was quiet as usual, the only unusual thing was Bruce joining them. Dick essentially ate an entire box of cereal in one sitting, he seemed to be in a better mood than he had been in the past few weeks. He even cracked jokes every now and then. He still looked tired but this was a good start. Alfred silently thanked god that he was doing at least a little better, though he had many doubts. Tim on the other hand, raises a suspicious eyebrow. Dick's smile is just a little too wide, similar to his signature 'tv smile', or the smile he uses while 'playing dumb' while undercover. His mannerisms were too exaggerated. He decided it'd be better to keep his thoughts to himself and act later rather than now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is really struggling so he talks to the only person he can think of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Suicide mention, rape mention (slightly vague but it can still be triggering), murder mention, allusions to past trauma, spiraling thoughts

Tim quietly opens Dick's bedroom door, it creaks quietly and Tim silently curses himself for even thinking of this stupid plan. Dick stirs, but doesn't wake. _Thank God_ Tim sighs a silent sigh of relief, making his way to the bookshelf, mostly filled with books from Dick's childhood. A couple books stood out however, six spiral notebooks crammed into an empty space, he grabs them, shuffling them to his room and shutting the door. He quickly flips through the oldest looking one, you never know, the past can haunt a person. Nothing too bad, just the woes of a pre-teenage Dick Grayson. He goes through another, again nothing out of the ordinary. Another. Nothing. _Wait-_ "it wasn't her." _What? What does that mean?_ He flips through more of the journal. _Nothing_ . There were a couple ripped out pages but still nothing. He opens another. Nothing. Nothing. _Oh my God._ Tim shuts the book, leaning back on his bed. _What the hell did he just read?_ It all makes sense. No matter how much he doesn't want it to, it does. _Jesus Dick, why didn't you say anything?_ Maybe he did and no one noticed. Maybe it was in his body language? Maybe his outbursts were a cry for help? What did "it wasn't her" mean? Answers apparently only lead to more questions. He picks up the books and shuffles to Dicks room. Thankfully Dick was still asleep. He quickly crams the books back into their spots and leaves back to his room. What should he do? What _could_ he do? Should he tell someone? Should he keep his mouth shut? What if Dick finds out he went through his stuff? Tim lays down exhaling, exhaustion overcoming him. He'll deal with this in the morning. 

\-----

As usual now, Dick started his morning off in the batcave, overworking himself to near exhaustion. He wouldn't be surprised if his body gave out. Is this his self prescribed punishment? Hell if he knows. The only thing he really knows is that no one knows, at least he hopes he does. If someone knew he wouldn't know what to do. Would they pity him? Would they hate him? Would they tell Bruce? What if Bruce knows? What if he hates him and he's not saying anything to keep from upsetting Tim or Alfred? Oh god what if Tim knows? Would he think he was weak and pathetic? Would he think he was disgusting? His breath hitches and tears fall without his permission. He's pathetic isn't he? A whore? It's sad isn't it? How a person can spend their whole life running away from a title they never asked for? How no matter how hard he tries to reshape his image the only thing people recognize him as is the "easy guy" or the "best ass," he cant escape it. In costume or out there's no escape from the comments and the "subtle" touches. He crumples in on himself, wrapping his arms around his body like a sorry excuse for a hug. A sad little whimper escapes his lips. He holds his breath. _Stop crying._ He sits up straightening his back. _You've faced worse than this, stop crying._ He wipes at his face, only for his tears to be replaced by new ones. _God damnit stop crying._ The door opens. "Dick?" Bruce calls. "Yeah?" Dick answers, voice shaky and uneven. "Are.. you okay?" He asks. "I'm fine," Bruce walks in sitting down. "What's going on?" His voice makes Dick both calm yet deeply terrified. _Should he tell him?_ "Bruce.." he begins, voice quiet and worn. Bruce lifts his head slightly, listening intently. "I.. um.. nevermind, I'm going back to bed," he stands up, his legs nearly giving out on him. It hurt to move. "It's two in the afternoon," Bruce states. "Is it?" 

\-----

Dick spent the rest of the day laying in bed. Curled up tight in the fetal position, his body tense and the knot in his stomach tying itself tighter with every passing moment. Alfred came by every so often to check in on him. He hasn't talked to Bruce since their pathetic excuse for a conversation in the cave. Dick had half hoped he'd come to check on him, that made him feel stupid. It was around the time he'd usually get ready to go on patrol, he didn't move. The door opens and someone walks in, sitting on the bed. "Hey Dick, are you coming on patrol?" Tim asks. Dick shakes his head. "Not today Timmy, sorry," He sits up to give him a halfhearted smile. "That's okay," Tim replies. "I hope you feel better soon," Dick nods. "Me too," Tim leaves and Dick lays back down. He hears muffled talking outside of his door. Memories of his teenage years flooded back. Specifically, the aftermath of Liu. How Bruce and Alfred would talk about him like he wasn't in the next room over. Everything was the same. The only thing that changed was the year. It made him want to leave. But where would he go?

\-----

Dick knocks on Barbara's door, he knows they're not on the best terms right now but he doesn't know where else to go. Hopefully she's not busy. She opens it, looking up to him, her face going from neutral to annoyance in seconds. "What do _you_ want?" She asks. "Can we please talk?" He asks urgently. She reluctantly moves aside to let him in. She wheels over to her computer, "Look Dick, I don't wanna be all buddy-buddy with you anymore. Not after _you_ cheated on me with the bitch who tried to kill me!" Barbara hisses, turning to Dick. "I didn't-" She glares at him, before turning back to her computer. "Look Barbara, Cat- _Tarantula_ set it up to look like I cheated on you. I would never get with her, not in a million years. _Especially_ not after what she did," Saying _her_ name made him want to gag. "You're kidding," Barbara scoffs. "I swear I'm not, trust me. I _hate_ her," Barbara glances back at Dick. "Okay, I believe you," She states. "But we are _not_ getting back together if that's what you came here for," Dick shakes his head. "No, I just need to get something off my chest and I didn't know where else to go," She nods. "Alright, go ahead," Dick nods. "I let Catalina kill someone," he explains, his voice wavering. Her eyes widen. "I-I shouldn't have listened to her.. I should've stood right there- I should've.. I should've just _let_ her shoot me. If I had she wouldn't have.." He trails off. Barbara stares at him, eyebrows upturned and lips pursed. "She wouldn't have what?" She asks after a long pause. Dick collapses, losing all the composure he'd worked so hard to gain. He sobs, ugly, drawn out sobs. Barbara reaches a hand out to him, causing him to flinch. "Dick, what happened?" She asks, worry spilling into her words. "I told her to stop," he whimpers, lifting his head to face her in a pathetic display of vulnerability. "She wouldn't listen," Barbara sits there, not knowing what to do, so she listens. "I told her not to touch me. I.. I told her no," It became increasingly obvious to her what had happened. "I'm a failure," Barbara shakes her head. "You're not a failure," She states. "I couldn't stop her, Babs! I _didn't_ stop her! I'm a terrible person! I deserved it!" He yells, drawing in a ragged breath. "You're not a terrible person. You didn't pull the trigger on Blockbuster, and you didn't deserve what she did," she grabs one of his hands. "I should've-" 

"It doesn't matter what you _should_ have done, what matters is that you know nothing she did was your fault and _you're_ not the one who deserves punishment, you didn't kill anyone and you're not responsible for her actions," Dick nods, slowly regaining his composure. "Thanks Babs," She smiles. "It's what friends are for," she tells him, pulling him into a hug. He can't remember the last time he's hugged someone.

\-----

Dick arrives back at the manor feeling like a weight was lifted off of him. "Master Richard, you're back," Alfred greets, hugging him tightly. "Where were you?" He asks. "At Barbara's," Alfred nods. "Would you like some cocoa? It's rather chilly out," Dick nods eagerly. "Thanks Alfie," Alfred leads him to the kitchen, just like he used to when he was a kid. "You seem to be in a much better mood than earlier," Alfred says, getting the ingredients out of the cabinets and refrigerator. "Yeah, I talked to Barbara and we're on much better terms," Alfred nods. "That's good. If I may ask, what was troubling you earlier?" Dick pauses for a moment, "Nothing, I was just tired," He responds, almost robotically. "Sorry if I worried you or anything," Alfred shakes his head. "That's quite alright," He smiles, handing him his perfectly made cocoa before sitting down next to him. "Alfred?" Dick murmurs taking a sip of his cocoa. Alfred hums quietly in response. "Would you ever hate me?" Dick traces his finger along the handle of his mug. "Of course not," Alfred responds. "Why would I ever hate you?" Dick shrugs. "I don't know," Alfred sighs quietly, "Richard, there is no reason in the world I would ever hate you. You're like a grandson to me," Dick smiles wearily, hugging him tightly. Alfred hugs him back just as tight. They sit in silence for several moments. "Why are you crying?" Alfred asks. "I don't know," 

\-----

"Dick!" Tim beams running toward him, arms wide open. "Hey littlewing," Dick greets smiling warmly. He prays to whatever god that's out there no one sees the tear tracks on his cheeks. "We thought you died," Tim sighs wrapping his arms around him tightly. "Sorry for scaring you Timmy, I went to Barbara's for a little," he chuckles, ignoring the sick feeling manifesting in his gut. "It's okay, just make sure to tell us before you leave," Dick nods. "I will," he murmurs looking to Bruce who nods in response to Tim's statement. Tim silently slips out of the hug and to his room. "Dick," Bruce grumbles, stepping closer. "Did something happen in Blüdhaven? Other than what I know about?" Dick shakes his head, "No, if something did happen though you'd be the first to know," He smiles his showman smile and slinks off to his room. "Give him time," Alfred pipes up, putting a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "It's been weeks, Alfred. He's only getting worse," Bruce sighs hopelessly. "What do I do?" Alfred purses his lips. "What if he tries to kill himself?" He clenches his fists. "What if he succeeds?" Alfred tenses slightly, "I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening,"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No chapter summary cause I'm lazy, but huge trigger warning for; suicide, rape, and self blame
> 
> Please be careful reading this chapter

NEW CHAPTER

Dick awakes to a knock on his door. "Come in," he mumbles, fighting through the fog of sleep. The door opens and someone walks in, heavy footsteps approach his bed. "Get dressed, we're going out," Bruce explains. Dick sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Where are we going?" He yawns. "I noticed you're running low on clothes so Alfred and I have decided to take you shopping, and you've been cooped up in the house for weeks you could probably use some time out," Dick nods. "Okay," Bruce leaves and Dick gets dressed and fixes his hair. He puts a bit less effort into his appearance than he usually would. He hoped no one notices. He walks out into the living room, Bruce leads him to the garage and to one of Dicks favorite cars. He smiles to himself, getting in the passenger seat. Bruce starts the car and drives out of the driveway. Dick turns on the radio, flipping through the stations until he lands on some upbeat pop song. Usually Bruce would jokingly complain about the music but he just sits silently, focusing on the road. "What's up B? Usually you're complaining about songs like this," Dick asks. "Hm? Nothing, this is actually a good song," Bruce replies. "What? Did I hear you correctly?  _ Stoic Bruce Wayne _ likes  _ ABBA _ ?" Dick chuckles. The corners of Bruce's mouth twitch into a smile. "Don't tell Tim, this will completely change how he sees me," Dick snorts. "Oh, I'm absolutely telling Tim," Bruce stifles a laugh. "I heard you talked to Barbara, how is she? I haven't really talked to anyone outside of work lately," He asks, turning into the parking lot of one of the many malls in Gotham. "She's alright, we've finally started talking again," Dick replies. Bruce nods, "That's good," He turns off the car and they step out. "Where do you wanna go first?"

\-----

They arrive back at the manor, bags dangling from each arm. "Tim!" Dick shouts, speed walking to the main living room. "Tim! Bruce likes ABBA!" He giggles, setting his bags down. "What?" Tim chuckles. "Oh no, my reputation," Bruce says flatly, despite the goofy smile plastered onto his face. "I'm telling Clark," Tim laughs dryly. "He knows," Bruce states. "Huh," Dick hums. Tim leaves, walking up to his room. Bruce left to the batcave shortly thereafter. Dick sits on the couch sighing quietly, as energetic and happy he may seem he's actually extremely exhausted. Of course it's not too hard keeping up the facade, he just needed to make puns and smile wide, something he's used to. All he really needs to do is keep his mouth shut for the time being and act like he usually does. The only one who knows is Barbara and it's not like she'd tell anyone. 

He tunes into the TV at precisely the wrong time. The camera lingers on a woman who's name tag spelled out the name 'Catalina' in bold uppercase letters. Just reading her name is enough to send him spiraling. His heart beats faster. His eyes are fixated on the television even after the camera pans to another contestant. It feels like one of those movies where the main character has a breakdown. He halfway expects a blurred camera zoom to the side of his face and a ringing noise in the background. As if on autopilot, he stands and walks to his bedroom flopping onto his bed. It's been weeks, why does he still feel like this? He should be over it. It was just sex after all. It's not like he fought back like he should have. Maybe she didn't hear him when he said no. Maybe he was too quiet. Maybe the rain was too loud. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he led her on. He has a habit of doing that, doesn't he? He should have done something more to stop her. He should have expected this. He should have known she would have done this. He should have known she would have just used him like so many others have. He stares at the ceiling blankly. He can't do this anymore. He's so tired. Does she regret it? Does she still think about him? Does she even think she did anything wrong? He hopes she regrets it. He hopes she hates herself for what she did. He desperately wants her to know how much pain she caused. How much he hates himself for what she did. How he can't even look in the mirror without feeling disgusting. How he can't do the things he loves without painful reminders of that horrible night. How he can still feel her hands on his skin as if they never left. A long simmering rage bubbles inside of him. If he died would he still feel this way? If he died would he still feel her hands? Would he still feel as though part of him stayed on that damned rooftop?

Maybe he should call Barbara, she'd probably be able help. He picks up his phone. She's probably too busy, besides it's not like he deserves help anyway. He sighs, setting his phone back down. 

\-----

Dick must have fallen asleep sometime during his 'little meltdown'. He sits up, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of his room. How long has it been since he fell asleep? The sun was still up before he fell asleep so it's been more than a couple hours. He stretches, willing himself out of bed. He opens his door, walking down the hallway and to the kitchen. His mouth was about as dry as a desert. "Hello Master Richard," Alfred greets with a smile. "Hey Alfie," Dick murmurs, voice crackly and raspy, pulling a glass from one of the cabinets and filling it with water. "What time is it?" He asks, before chugging the glass. "It's ten thirty," Alfred responds matter-of-factly. Dick nods. "Are Bruce and Tim out on patrol?" He asks. "Yes, they should be back in a few hours, tonight seems to be rather slow," Alfred replies. "That's good, I'm surprised crimes' slowed down so much lately," Dick yawns, sitting down at the table. "Me too," Alfred begins. "Are you hungry?" Dick nods. "There are leftovers in the refrigerator, would you like me to heat them up for you?" Dick shakes his head. "I got it," he states, standing and making his way to the fridge. "How've you been?" He asks, pulling out a plate of food and shoving it into the microwave. "I've been fine," Alfred responds. "What about you, are you doing any better?" Dick shrugs, "Yeah, I've been doing a little better," He says, a little white lie won't hurt. "That's good," the corners of Alfred's mouth quirk upward into a smile. "I'm glad you're doing better," Dick nods, forcing a little chuckle. "Yeah, me too,"

\-----

Bruce and Tim arrive at the manor at around one in the morning, Tim trots up to his room and Bruce heads to the kitchen. Surprisingly Dick was still sitting in the kitchen, head resting atop folded arms. Bruce sits down, clearing his throat. Dick jolts up looking genuinely horrified for a moment. "Oh, hey B," He sighs, letting himself relax. "Dick, we need to talk," Bruce states. "What's going on?" Dick asks, completely caught off guard. "That's what I'd like to know," Bruce gives him the stereotypical interrogating glare he uses on criminals, albeit slightly subdued. "What?" Dick chuckles, "there's nothing going on," Bruce raises an eyebrow, pulling off his cowl. Somehow, this is even more intimidating. "Seriously Bruce, nothing's wrong," He desperately wants Bruce to stop asking questions. Stop talking. Stop looking at him like that. But he also wants him to continue. Help him. Hold him. Coddle him. He needs it but he doesn't deserve it. "Dick I want to help you,  _ please _ let me help you," The desperation in Bruce's voice feels like a shot through the heart. "I don't need help," He says, even when every part of him is screaming out for it. "Please let us help you," Bruce pleads, his voice soft and shaky. Dick slumps over into a shaking mess of tears. "What happened?" Bruce asks. "Nothing! Nothing happened! It's not your business!" Dick screams, standing up and bolting out of the kitchen. Bruce sat rigidly, staring at the seat the younger man had left. Should he go after him? Should he sit back and let him go through whatever it is he's going through? He turns to Alfred who stands by the counter looking absolutely dumbfounded. "Let's give him a bit to calm down," Alfred sighs. "If he's not out in thirty minutes I'm checking on him," Bruce states standing up and walking to his room.

\-----

Thirty minutes felt too long. Every passing second felt like an hour. God, that boy desperately needs help. No matter how much he tries to deny it he needs to talk to someone. As soon as thirty minutes is over Bruce makes his way to Dick's room, he knocks. No answer. Maybe he still needs time to himself? He knocks again. No answer. Not even so much as a stir on the other side of the door. Against his better judgement he turns the knob, opening the door. Dick was curled up tight on his bed, his nails digging into his arms. He murmurs to himself in between sobs.This was a far cry from the happy wise-cracking Dick he talked to earlier. Bruce steps inside, sitting on the bed. This causes Dick to curl in on himself even tighter. Bruce looks around the dimly lit room, books and blankets scattered the floor. This wasn't the usual 'I forgot to clean my room' mess, it was worse. Dick looks so small. "Hey chum," Bruce whispers, placing a hand on his back. "Please don't touch me," Dick murmurs, voice trembling as though it were painful to say. His ribs expand slowly. It hurts to see him like this. He hasn’t seen him like this since he was a teenager. It feels both as if it were yesterday and as though it was a millenia ago. He doesn’t know what to do. Dick’s always been such a strong person. Even when he wasn’t doing well he never acted like this. The only time he’s acted like this was when-  _ no, that can’t be right. _ In Bruce’s mind the almost absurdly obvious wasn’t even a possibility.  _ He would have told me, right? He told me back then, if it happened again he would have told me.  _ He reassures himself. After a while Bruce leaves. He walks into the living room where Alfred sat with Tim. Tim seemed to be anxious about something. “What’s wrong Tim?” Bruce asks. “Bruce,” Tim begins, mustering up all the courage he can get in the brief silence between his words, “There’s something I need to tell you,” Bruce nods, sitting down. “What is it?” Tim gulps in a breath of air. “I read Dick’s journals,” Bruce’s worried expression quickly contorts to shock, then confusion. “Why would you do that?” He asks. "I was worried," Bruce's expression goes from confusion to a slight smile. He laughs for a moment before regaining his composure. "What?" Tim asks, tilting his head to the side. "Nothing, did you find anything that would be a likely cause for his recent behavior?" Tim nods. "I think.. I think he was raped," he almost whispers after a brief pause. Bruce nods, "It's.. likely," he admits. He knows he can't deny what's most likely true. Alfred keeps a neutral expression but both Bruce and Tim can tell he's both worried and horrified. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Tim dips his head down. "I wanted to respect Dick's privacy," Bruce pulls him into a tight hug, at first Tim sits stiffly but eases into it. 

\------

"What do I do?" Bruce paces around the living room. Tim had since gone to bed, though he doubted he was sleeping. "I suggest you take him to see a therapist," Alfred responds. "How did I not know? The signs were all there. If I had pressed further-"

"You'd have pushed him away more,"

"I know, I just.." He trails off. "If I said no to him mentoring that tarantula girl, nothing would have happened,"

"You can't guarantee that,"

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. "I'll try to get him counseling in the morning, I need to-" A frantic knock on the door cuts him off. Alfred quickly pulls the door open. Tim stands in the doorway looking absolutely horrified. Before Bruce can question what's going on Tim opens his mouth. "Dick isn't moving," He says urgently. Bruce doesn't say a word. He brushes past Tim and sprints to Dick's room. The sight wasn't horrific, just slightly gruesome. Dick's lips bluer than his signature blue, his ribs expand slowly, the pauses far too long and the breaths far too shallow, his skin clammy and cold. He was alive, thankfully, just unresponsive. Bruce quickly calls an ambulance. "Is he gonna be okay?" Tim asks, Bruce nods, though he's just as in the dark as he is. "He'll be fine," Tim nods, he knows Bruce isn't sure but it's easier to think Dick will be okay than it is to think he won't. Every second the ambulance took to get there felt like years. Dick teeters on the edge of life and death as Bruce follows what the 911 operator tells him to do.


End file.
